


Obsequious Scion

by Toast_Senpai



Series: Strike [2]
Category: Red Dead Redemption
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Begging, Edging, Established Relationship, Face-Fucking, Hand Jobs, M/M, Riding, Rough Oral Sex, Smut, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-10-09 04:35:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17400128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toast_Senpai/pseuds/Toast_Senpai
Summary: Weeks later, and Arthur thinks nothing more will come of their new relationship. Dutch proves him wrong.





	Obsequious Scion

**Author's Note:**

> I hope this covers a lot of what people suggested. I tried to fit most of it in. Also, thanks to everyone who commented and left ideas on the other fic! I love all of you <3

Saint Denis, of all places. That’s where Dutch had told Arthur to go. Why here? Arthur doesn’t yet know the reason. He had woken up that morning and found a note on his cot-side table. _Meet me in Saint Denis,_ was all it said. It wasn’t even signed but Arthur knows Dutch’s handwriting well.

So he goes. As he left he told Uncle he was going hunting alone. Arthur takes the fastest route he knows. The bustling urban life around him is still so foreign. He hasn’t been here often and doesn’t know his way around the city, let alone how he is even going to _find_ Dutch.

“Goddamn game of cat an’ mouse,” Arthur mutters under his breath as he walks his horse along the street, being mindful of any passerbys who seem to _want_ to get run over with the way they refuse to move out of the way. “But who’s the cat and who’s the mouse, I wonder.”

Arthur tries the first saloon he happens by. He hitches his horse and takes himself inside. Early afternoon doesn’t see too many patrons. Arthur steps around a table of poker players who are speaking French. The women stare at him from behind their large lacy fans, fluttering their hair as they wave them.

There’s no sign of Dutch. Arthur sits at the bar. He figures he might as well have a drink and try to figure out where he can try next. Arthur sets down a few coins as a beer is placed in front of him. He looks into the golden liquid and sees the round reflections of the overhead lights. Why does Dutch have to make this tedious? He could have just said where exactly he wanted to meet.

It had been a few weeks since… Arthur rubs a hand over his face, trying to wipe off the blush that tints his cheeks. A few weeks since he and Dutch had done a certain thing while on a scouting mission. Even though the information on the O’Discolls had turned out to be horse shit, at least they’d uncovered a new part of their relationship.

Though after that, nothing else had happened between them. Arthur takes a drink. Maybe that’s just the way it’s going to be. It would probably look strange to the camp if they suddenly started acting like lovers. Arthur doubts anyone to challenge he or Dutch on it, but it might make things uncomfortable.

Arthur sighs. He leans his elbows on the countertop. He doesn’t care, really. There are much more important things to worry about, like Dutch’s plan, and making money, and watching out for the law, and finding that fucking Colm O’Driscoll, and then getting the hell out of here. Even if Arthur had enjoyed himself beyond words… He taps at his glass, catches condensation on his fingers. His journal has been filled with nothing but his pathetic musings and scribbles of Dutch.

The clock above the bar goes unnoticed as Arthur drinks two more beers. Before he can order another, a man sits down beside him. Normally Arthur would ignore whoever it is, but he’s feeling a bit lonely at the moment. He turns his head, ready to start up a friendly conversation.

Dutch raises an eyebrow at him, lips quirking into a smile. “How you doin’, son?”

Arthur stares. Then he blinks a few times before shrugging. “Bout time you showed up,” he grumbles. Arthur faces forward again, hands cupping his empty glass.

Dutch leans a shoulder into him. “Hey, now, that ain’t no way to treat a man. You drunk?”

Arthur shakes his head. “Haven’t been here that long.”

Dutch’s hand is warm on his back. The way it travels across from shoulder to hip makes Arthur shiver.

Dutch says, “I figured you’d be searching this town high and low for me. You must be getting tired in your old age.”

Arthur huffs in amusement. “Sure.” He pushes the glass away and looks at Dutch again. “So why Saint Denis? Pretty certain you hated it here.”

Dutch’s hand gives a soft pat to Arthur’s back before it retreats. “Yeah, I do hate it. But this civilization _is_ good for one thing, and that’s something you’ll find out later.” His wink has Arthur’s mouth going a bit dry. Dutch stands, tipping his head towards the stairs in the middle of the room. “Shall we?”

“Were you up there the whole time?” Arthur asks as he follows Dutch.

“Course I weren’t. Had to collect a few things.” He stops halfway to the top and glances back at Arthur. “It’s amazing just what one can find hidden away in the back alleys.”

“You’re bein’ mighty ominous,” Arthur says. “Hope you ain’t plannin’ on hog tyin’ me with some Chinese silk rope you bought for a couple cents off a shady snake down by the docks…”

Dutch’s laugh is loud. They continue up the stairs and onto the second floor landing. “Oh, Arthur, it isn’t anything like that.” He pauses. Then, voice lowered, says, “Unless you wanted that.”

Arthur feels his throat tighten and tries to imagine it. Being strung up and helpless for Dutch to do whatever he wanted with him. It…has some appeal. Arthur keeps silent, not knowing what to answer with.

Dutch’s rented room is the last one on the left end. It’s definitely better quality than the rooms in Valentine, much more spacious. Arthur thinks he understands why Dutch wanted to come here instead. The bed is bigger and when he sits on it, it’s plush, springs noiseless. There’s a whole vanity set too, the mirror perfectly spotless. Two solid dressers on either end of the place and matching bedside tables with lamps. 

Interestingly, there’s another door. Arthur goes to it, and it opens up onto a small balcony overlooking a courtyard with a fountain in the center. Arthur grips the rail and looks down, sees a couple sitting on a bench, smoking, laughing.

Behind him, Dutch takes a hold of his hips. Arthur makes to turn, but Dutch keeps him steady.

“Do you like it?” Dutch asks quietly into his ear. “It took a bit of smooth talking and bribery to get this room. The man downstairs said it’s always booked because it’s the best one they’ve got.”

Arthur squeezes the cold metal beneath his hands. “Why you spoilin’ me for, Dutch?” It isn’t his birthday and he hasn’t been doing the best on getting money for the camp. Arthur feels undeserving of this spot of luxury and a little bit confused by it.

Dutch kisses the side of Arthur’s neck and it tickles. “I just felt like it, is all. Aren’t I allowed to?” He smoothes his hands up along Arthur’s sides before wrapping strong arms around his chest. “I want me and my boy to have a good time tonight.”

The heat that dips and coils through Arthur’s insides leaves him biting his lip. He leans back into Dutch, enjoys the touch of the older man.

“Did you forget,” Dutch says, “what we talked about a couple weeks ago?”

Arthur’s breath catches. Of course he hasn’t forgotten. He’d been so ridiculously happy that night that he had went and teased without really realizing it. A punishment, that’s what he’d told Dutch to promise him. Arthur forces out a _no_ in reply.

Dutch releases him suddenly only to pull Arthur by the arm back into the room, closing off the door to the outside. He looks like a big cat on the prowl, and Arthur is certainly his prey. He stalks towards Arthur, and they move in step towards the bed.

The mattress cushions the fall onto it. Arthur stares up at Dutch, feels the hot press of his hand against the middle of his chest. A surge of desire bubbles through him like the wash of alcohol he’d had just before. Arthur relaxes onto the bed, expecting Dutch to kiss him.

The man above clicks his tongue. “Not yet, Arthur.” He lifts his hat and tosses it towards one of the dressers. It lands on top with a soft thump. “There’s something I need you to do.”

Arthur sits up, eager. He watches as Dutch walks to the side of the bed. “What’s that?” he asks as Dutch comes to a stop. He trails his gaze from Dutch’s legs upwards to meet dark eyes.

Dutch says nothing. He only gets closer, reaches out a ring adorned hand and winds it into Arthur’s hair that’s starting to get a bit too long. With the other he sets a finger under Arthur’s chin to tip his head up further. His thumb rubs lightly back and forth over Arthur’s bottom lip before dipping in and pushing down on the teeth there, forcing Arthur to open his mouth. And then Dutch lets Arthur’s jaw free and lazily brings his hand to the front of his jeans. He palms at the material, grabs around the outline of his cock.

Arthur puts it together. He swallows, the gulping loud to his ears. He lets Dutch bring his head closer, carefully tugging his hair. Arthur breathes on Dutch’s hand before he pushes it away to replace it with his own. Dutch makes an interested hum, and Arthur presses the tips of his fingers into the hardness he finds. He’s been thinking about this a lot actually, being able to let Dutch use his mouth.

“Go ahead, son,” Dutch says, the deep roll of his voice hurries Arthur’s hands.

The buttons give way and Arthur drags down the front of the drawers. He gets his first proper look at Dutch’s cock. It fills out his hand as he cups it, curls his fingers around the smooth skin. Arthur knows he’s staring, unblinking, but he can’t help himself. The weight of it is satisfying, pretty the rosy pink of the head as he slides his hand down.

For a split second Arthur thinks that maybe he’s doing a little _too_ much admiring. But Dutch hasn’t said anything else yet. He isn’t one to make Dutch wait, though, so he leans in and opens his mouth as wide as he can. The fit is easy, and Arthur tastes as he goes down, taking in more inch by inch until the head is tapping his throat. Arthur eases back.

Dutch’s hand in his hair tightens and pushes him forward again. “Come on, Arthur,” Dutch says, “I know you can take all of me in that big mouth of yours.”

Arthur grumbles, not really thinking he _can_ but he’s willing to try. For Dutch, he’ll do anything.

Breathing through his nose, Arthur pulls back, tongue pressing up as he does. Then he sinks down, cock going all the way in, stretching his mouth uncomfortably.

“Hold still for me,” Dutch huffs. Then there are two large hands digging into Arthur’s golden hair. “This is supposed to be a punishment after all.”

Arthur is about to manage a question when Dutch yanks his head forward, then back, and then forward again, driving into him hard. He struggles to breathe, each time Dutch thrusts in it slams into the back of his throat, and Arthur fights not to gag. The saliva pools and on the slide out it dribbles past his lips. It hurts, but the burn of it is tolerable with Dutch scratching his nails into Arthur’s scalp, rumbling groans sending sparks through Arthur’s gut. He wants to cough, tries to, and it only seems to feel that much better for Dutch.

“So good,” Dutch mutters, a hand coming down to draw along Arthur’s cheek, thick fingers pressing into the stubbled skin, rubbing against his cock as Arthur sucks on it when he stops his thrusts. “You look so _good_ like this, Arthur.”

The praise does funny things to him. Arthur moans, eyes falling shut. He circles his tongue around Dutch’s cock, licks on the soft ridges and presses into the slit, tastes the faint hint of salt and musk. He’s surprised at how he likes it, having Dutch slowly press him forward until he’s being held still, his throat contracting as he tries to swallow, lungs aching with the need for air. He feels the sting of tears gathering at the corners of his eyes just as Dutch finally moves Arthur completely off.

Arthur hurriedly gasps in oxygen, panting as if he’s just sprinted across town. Dutch leans down and presses a kiss on Arthur’s cheek, then his nose, and when Arthur opens his eyes Dutch is smiling at him.

“You all right?” Dutch asks.

Arthur nods. His jaw is sore but it isn’t all that bad.

Dutch moves away, going around to the other side of the bed where he kneels. Arthur hears a rustling of what sounds to be paper and some glassware. He watches Dutch, wondering what the man could have brought. He _did_ say something earlier about picking things up…

Dutch first sets a tall but thin square bottle on the side table. The glass of it is tinted blue, and there’s a little cork stuck into the top. The next bottle is a light green one that’s much shorter and fatter. Then Dutch is straightening and pinning Arthur with a look. “Clothes off,” he says, and gives a snap of his fingers.

Arthur rolls his eyes. As he gets off the bed and starts to strip, he watches Dutch kick off his shoes along with the gun belt and pants. Dutch makes himself at home on the mattress right in the middle, pillows propped up against the headboard. Arthur peels down his suspenders and unbuttons his shirt before shrugging it down. He leaves it on the floor in a heap along with his jeans and underwear. Completely naked, he lifts his hands and looks at Dutch.

“Anything else I can do, _sir_?” His voice is scratchy, deeper than usual. The comment is meant to be a tease, something he’s sure Dutch would laugh at.

But the man just pats his lap. “Come have a lie down, won’t you?”

Arthur tilts his head, not sure what Dutch means. He climbs onto the bed and crawls towards Dutch.

“How ya want me?” Arthur asks.

Dutch points between his legs. “Well, I want your ass up right here. So however you think is the easiest.”

Arthur hangs his head as he crawls across the bed until he’s hovering over Dutch. He lowers himself, a feeling of exposed embarrassment flooding through as he lays. Dutch’s legs aren’t the softest things to have pressing into his stomach and thighs, but it’ll be fine. Anyway, this way their cocks are pressed together, and Arthur’s hips are already giving a small jerk at the sensation.

Dutch’s heavy hands rest lightly on his bare ass. They knead over the flesh, raising goosebumps. He can feel the colder, harsher press of the metal bands of Dutch’s rings, but soon the chill of them is gone.

“Goddamn gorgeous,” is the mumbled praise. Arthur barely hears it it’s so quiet. “All the ladies should be in envy of this fine piece of meat right here.” Dutch digs his fingers in and gives a shake.

The sensation is strange but erotic. Arthur chews on his thumb, whine still rushing out. Dutch’s hands are large enough to cover almost all of his ass. The roughness of them creates a friction Arthur’s never quite felt before.

The light swat is unexpected. It doesn’t feel like much. Arthur tries to turn his head, neck straining to get a look. “Dutch?” he wheezes. The next hit is firmer, has a bit of bite to it.

“Shh,” Dutch shushes. “Bad boys must be spanked.” The words are full of humor.

Arthur lets his forehead rest against the blanket that he’s digging his fingers into. Dutch’s pats are solid but still fairly light. When they stop, Arthur realizes he’s holding his breath. It comes flooding out as he hears Dutch’s rings click against the glass bottle that he must have just picked up. The pop of the cork is next.

“What is it?” Arthur tries. He doesn’t bother attempting a look.

“Really good oil. The woman I bought it from swears by it.”

Arthur lifts his head at that, pinning Dutch with a bewildered look. “You asked her about something for… _this?_ ” He stutters a breath. “For sex?”

Dutch laughs. “Oh, Arthur, you’re so innocent, it’s adorable.” He pours the oil out onto his right hand, drips of it falling onto the back of Arthur’s thigh. “Of _course_ I asked her what kind of lubrication is the best. This is better than gun oil or lard. Has to be.” He sniffed the bottle. “Smells like olives. Bet you could cook just fine with this stuff too.”

Arthur groans and thunks his head onto the mattress. Sometimes Dutch just doesn’t have any decency. Arthur knows that _he’d_ never have the guts to go asking for oil. Not unless he would be able to lie that it was for something other than sex. “Hope it weren’t too expensive,” Arthur mumbles.

“Little bit,” Dutch says. “But it’s worth it.” He sets the bottle aside. A moment later Arthur feels slick fingers brushing over his hole. “Need something that’ll make it real good for you, darling.”

The words have Arthur fisting his hands, cock pressing down against Dutch’s. A finger skims across puckered skin, and Dutch’s other hand holds him open, probably to get a better look. Arthur doesn’t feel the cool of the room anymore. He’s on fire, especially his head. He can’t _think_ with the way Dutch is nudging against him, dipping just the tip in before gradually sliding a finger all the way in. The ease of it catches Arthur off guard. He tenses as a second makes it inside.

“Relax, Arthur,” Dutch coos. He gingerly spreads his fingers apart. “You can take it. Just like you took my cock weeks ago.”

Arthur grits his teeth. He wants to tell Dutch to stop talking because he’s starting to go dumb. That reverberating husk of Dutch’s voice that’s home to him, the thickness of his fingers, the way their cocks are pressed together, both hard and aching. Arthur grunts in response, not trusting his voice.

The fingers being removed have Arthur wondering why. And then there’s a harsh smack to his ass that he hears before he feels. The sting blooms across his skin, and it intensifies as Dutch does it again. He hits both cheeks, and the spots that have oil hurt particularly well. Arthur braces against the hits until Dutch finally stops.

The slick fingers return, three this time, working into him. Arthur feels them faintly, more focused on the heat of his ass, the throb of it. He’s getting used to the size of them prodding around, spreading him open. They go deeper next time in, and Arthur’s cock jerks at the snap of pleasure that rips through him. He doesn’t even notice his voice until the buzz is fading.

Dutch hums his amusement. “Did you like that?” he asks. His fingers come all the way out again, and a calloused hand slaps his ass hard. “Can’t have you _enjoying_ it too much, now can we?”

Arthur bites down on the blanket, muffling his cry. He takes the spanks, counting each of them until finally on the tenth one they subside. His ass is filled again, Dutch’s fingers twisting around, diving and surfacing, then curling just so that it leaves his whole body twitching, trying to grind down. A single hit to his abused skin stills him. It feels like a warning.

Dutch calms him as he would a horse, making soothing sounds with little clicks. Arthur would like to say that he ain’t no animal, but the fingers digging down against some perfect spot have him whining.

“Good boy,” Dutch says lowly. “Taking it so well. Knew my boy could.” He manages to get his pinky in, all but his thumb inside. “If only you could see this, Arthur. It’s a wonderful sight.”

Arthur shakes his head. Why, he doesn’t know, just feels like he has to. The fabric he’s shoved into his mouth is soaked with saliva, and he lets it out. “Dutch,” he pants. “It’s too much.” Arthur knows anymore of the hits to his over-sensitive skin will push him right into finishing, and Dutch’s fingers aren’t helping with that.

Abruptly, Dutch lifts his hands away. Arthur takes the free moment to breathe. And then he hears a glass bottle again, and soon feels a chilly liquid relief being drizzled onto his ass. He hums in question.

“Something to soothe the sting,” Dutch says. He very carefully rubs in the cooling substance, and it’s pleasant. Arthur is thankful for it, whatever it is. It has a strong medicinal smell but he doesn’t mind.

And then he’s being turned over, Dutch pushing at his hips, moving his legs around. Arthur stares up at the ceiling before sliding his eyes to Dutch. The man stares back at him fondly.

One of Dutch’s hands circles his straining cock while the other holds tight at the base, knuckles brushing his balls. It’s a possessive grip.

“Don’t want it ending just yet,” Dutch says with a smile. His strokes are filled with affection. “Tell me if you get too close.”

Arthur focuses on the feel, the slick guide of Dutch’s hand over him, pushes up on his elbows so he can see it. He becomes a bit mesmerized, listens to the wet sounds, enjoys the build low in his gut until he’s tensing, toes curling. “I-” Arthur bites his lip hard and tilts his head back.

Dutch stops, letting go of him.

“Why?” Arthur slurs, pinning Dutch with a desperate gaze. “C’mon, Dutch, I wanna-”

The one hand still left around his cock squeezes hard. The sharpness of it reels Arthur back in. He huffs.

Dutch smiles. “It’ll be so much better later,” he says.

Arthur doesn’t think there’s any correlation there. He sighs, lets his chin fall to his chest. “Sure,” he mumbles. When he tries to push his hips up, Dutch’s hand tightens.

“Now now, Arthur. Settle down.” Dutch lets a fingertip rest on the head of his cock. “I know what’s best for my boy.” The finger runs down the length.

Arthur shivers. “Course ya do,” he gripes. When Dutch returns his hand and fists him quickly, Arthur chokes on a moan. He revels in the bliss of it while it lasts, once again feeling like he’s skipping towards completion faster than he’d like.

When he arches up, breath stuttering, Dutch takes both his hands off. Arthur clamps his jaw shut hard, a spike of frustration fluttering through his chest. He wants to curse Dutch for torturing him like this. Arthur lifts his own hand, makes a grab for his cock.

Dutch captures it and leads it away. “What do you think you’re doing?” Dutch asks, an eyebrow raised. “I didn’t give you permission to touch yourself.”

“Dutch, _please_.” Arthur knows he’s turned into a mess at this point. “You gotta let me.”

Dutch shakes his head and puts Arthur’s hand back onto the bed. He presses two fingertips to Arthur’s lips, then drags them down his neck, chest, stomach, all the way back to the straining cock. “I don’t _gotta_ let you do anything, son.” He rubs it with barely any pressure, skimming along the veins, then lower yet to the still wet hole. “You’re my plaything tonight,” he says, then pushes his middle finger in.

Arthur draws a breath. He doesn’t think he’s ever held off this long before. Another few tugs to his cock and he’d definitely come. But Dutch is ignoring now, instead back to working him open, as if he hadn’t been enough before. Arthur covers his eyes with his forearm and chews on his sore lip. When Dutch pushes his finger upwards, Arthur bucks his hips and feels his cock drool.

Dutch is mumbling something far too quiet for Arthur to hear properly. When he chances a glance, he sees Dutch watching his finger, cock bobbing with the movement. And then Dutch is looking at Arthur, expression heated, eyes so dark Arthur can’t see the blue anymore.

The finger is wrenched out of him. Dutch hurriedly brings Arthur up, pulling the man to straddle his lap, knees either side Dutch’s thighs. He kisses Arthur deep, flicks his tongue in, and Arthur moans around it, pushing back with his own. Arthur grabs on to Dutch’s shoulders, nails digging into the man’s shirt. Arthur bunches the fabric, annoyed with it. He goes for the buttons and with shaking hands almost tears them. Then he’s pushing Dutch’s shirt off, helping the man out of it, and flinging it to the floor.

Arthur moves his head away, Dutch’s lips falling to his cheek. “Thought I’d never get to see you naked,” Arthur mutters. He runs his hands along Dutch’s chest, through the hair and to his nipples that have gone hard. “It’s real nice.”

Dutch’s laugh is nothing more than an amused rumble. He palms Arthur’s thighs. “Think you’re finally ready for me.” His hands slide to Arthur’s ass and hold him open. “Sit down for me.”

Arthur guides Dutch’s cock in. The press is deliciously effortless, and before Arthur realizes it, he’s sat down in Dutch’s lap, cock all the way inside him. Dutch is kissing him again, unsteady this time, filled with too much lust.

When they get a chance to breathe, Dutch smacks Arthur’s ass. “Move, boy.” He helps raise Arthur up. “And don’t even think about touching yourself,” he warns.

The drop back down is rushed. Arthur gasps, and it turns into a groan. He brings himself closer to Dutch, hands gripping wherever they can reach to find purchase. Arthur rocks himself on Dutch’s cock, feels it touching farther than it ever has, farther than fingers could go.

“That’s it, son,” Dutch pants against his ear. “Keep moving.”

Arthur moves, soon changing to take his time to go all the way up, until Dutch’s cock is almost out, then sitting back down, grinding strongly, his own cock smashed between their bodies, leaking all over their stomachs. It’s not enough to set him off, but it sure is good.

Dutch settles his hands on Arthur’s hips, following the man’s movements. He bucks up to meet Arthur the next time and it has Arthur cursing aloud.

“That good?” Dutch drawls. He thrusts again, Arthur bouncing with it. “Tell me you like it.”

Arthur has to swallow the saliva pooling in his mouth. He runs a hand through Dutch’s hair, twisting fingers through the curls at the end. “’S real good, Dutch.” Arthur stutters on another press in, squeezes down reflexively and Dutch moans.

“How close?” Dutch asks, voice strained. He pinches Arthur’s hips, fucks up into him, throwing off the rhythm. “Beg me for it, Arthur.”

Later, Arthur knows, he’ll feel embarrassed. But right now he needs it, has been needing it for a while. He tugs at Dutch’s hair, tips the man’s head back so he can look at him. “Please, Dutch,” Arthur breathes. “I need it real bad. Make me come.” He kisses Dutch hard, then pulls away. “Wanna do it for you,” he whispers. “I’m your good boy.”

Dutch mouths at Arthur’s neck, nips his Adam’s apple. “That you are, son.” He shoves a hand between their stomachs and grips Arthur’s cock, presses his thumb hard against the head. “Go ahead, Arthur.”

Arthur’s thighs shake as he drops himself down a final time, feels Dutch’s cock pushing just right, and then he releases, panting against Dutch’s lips as the man stares into his eyes. He lets Dutch stroke his cock through it, using the mess to help slick his hand. Then there’s a deep-set heat flooding within him, and Dutch groans. There’s going to be a bruise on his hip for sure.

Dutch kisses him soundly. “You’re something special, Arthur.”

Arthur rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling. “All right. I get it.”

“I mean it, son. I’ve told you before all of this, haven’t I?” Dutch runs a wet thumb along Arthur’s cheek. “Just because we fuck doesn’t mean you’re any more or any less special.” His eyes are so soft. Arthur doesn’t know the last time he’s seen a look like that. “I love you.”

Arthur nods once. “I know…” He’s hit with a sudden shyness and has to advert his eyes. “I love you too, ya randy bastard.”

Dutch’s laugh is musical. “So, how say we get cleaned up and go for a nice dinner? I found this little place close to the train station…”

Arthur doesn’t know what he’s done to deserve this, but he’ll take all of it without question.


End file.
